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No such luck.
“You mind telling me how you came to be here? Desolation isn’t the easiest place to find.”
Adam’s head jerked up at that. “This is Desolation?”
The barkeep frowned a little. “You didn’t know?”
Adam shook his head, his thoughts spinning like a bored dog chasing its tail. “I was just riding and sort of found you. Didn’t realize this place actually existed. Heard stories here and there but none credible enough that I’d have thought to come looking.”
The barkeep nodded. “Good. We like to keep it that way. Gotten more than our fair share of strangers the last couple years.”
Adam frowned at that, though his attention wasn’t really on the barkeep anymore but on the implications of being in the notorious town of Desolation.
“If you’re planning on sticking around, you might want to stop by the sheriff’s office,” the barkeep said. “Town Council’s got some rules the newcomers gotta follow.”
Interesting. “Thanks,” Adam said, lifting his glass before quickly downing it. “I’ll do that.”
He pushed off his stool and headed back outside to Barnaby. Looks like he needed to go see the sheriff to hear whatever these rules were. Because if this really was Desolation, he absolutely wanted—no,needed—to stay. It might just save his sorry ass.
Despite the citizens of Desolation taking some obvious pains to keep their location off the map, word had slowly trickled through the dark corners of the Western states and territories that the little town was a safe place for retired…let’s call them ne’er-do-wells—“criminals” was such an ugly word—who weren’t…ya know…criminals anymore. Pardon—who were ne’er-do-wells who wanted to start doing well. ’Er-do-wells?
Anyhow. Thieves who were done thieving, drifters who were done drifting, gamblers who were (sorta) done gambling, gunslingers who were ready to hang up their guns. If any of those applied to a person, word was Desolation was safe. The town supposedly had a soft spot for folks with a dark past who wanted to live in peace.
And if that didn’t fit Adam to perfection, he didn’t know what did. If there was one spot on earth that he’d have an actual chance of evading the long reach of Marshal Spurlock, Desolation was it. Spurlock wouldn’t put any faith in the tales of Desolation, if he’d ever even heard of it. The few stories Adam had heard had been whispered behind closed doors and even then, only rarely. No. If Adam was really in Desolation, he was probably safe.
And for the first time in months, he took a long, deep breath and let it out again, then looked around his new town with a smile. Despite the crowd, nothing much seemed to be going on. Folks were just milling about. He caught snippets of conversations here and there about nothing much in particular.
Someone who looked to be the town preacher stood with a small group on the raised sidewalk. Maybe it was a prayer meeting or some fire-and-brimstone Bible thumping. Not usually his type of gathering, but he could probably use a bit more religiosity in his life at the moment, considering his circumstances. Though something about the whole setup didn’t sit right with him. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. Maybe he should—
“All right, quiet down!” a voice boomed.
Adam’s gaze flashed to the man in front of the tavern, all that beautiful peace that had been coursing through his veins instantly disappearing. A feeling not unlike when he’d jumped into that ice-cold lake a few weeks ago and his balls had sucked so high into his body, he’d nearly lost them altogether.
He cursed under his breath as the unfamiliar sensation of butterflies ripped through his stomach. He wasn’t exactly lily-livered in most circumstances and certainly wasn’t proud of it in this case. He’d faced down more than his fair share of men literally gunnin’ for him and obviously had lived to fight another day. But thanks to his ridiculously terrible intuition, he now had a whole new worry to deal with.
Of all the towns in the west he could ride into with his tail between his legs, he had to go and pick the one that was apparently inhabited by none other than Gray “Quick Shot” Woodson himself. A notorious gunfighter who, by all appearances, had become…the town sheriff? Damn it all, the barkeephadbeen talking about him. Shock and terror aside, Adam had to stifle a laugh. One, because of all the people in the world who’d end up becoming a lawman, ol’ Quick Shot was thelastAdam would have picked.
Two, if that were true…well, suffice it to say that the sheriff wouldn’t be too pleased to see Adam. And purposely intruding on the territory of a man who wouldreallynot want him there and had the skills to remove him—permanently—fell into that whole “monumentally asinine decision” category. Of all the rotten luck.
At this point in his life, he really shouldn’t be surprised that the place he chose to hide out from the person who wanted him dead was run by another one who’d love to see him six feet south. If he survived his little situation, he really needed to look into making some changes that would minimize the chances of more people rooting for his demise.
Woodson glanced around the crowd, and Adam ducked back behind his horse. Damn. He needed a disguise or something. Leaving would be a better option, but the crowd had spread out enough that it would make a bigger commotion to get his horse through them than just lying low for a few minutes. He pulled off his jacket and embroidered vest and carefully wrapped his silver pocket watch inside them, then stashed the lot in his saddlebags with a sigh. That vest was brand-new. It was sure to get completely wrinkled stored in his bag.
He looked down at himself and then partially untucked his shirt. That…wasn’t much of a disguise.
“Hey, kid,” Adam said, waving over a youth who’d traipsed by. “Trade me hats.”
He pulled his nearly new, expertly made, and lovingly cared-for hat from his head and held it out with more than a little hesitation.
“Really?” the kid said, ripping off his own oversize, floppy hat and holding it out.
“Really,” Adam answered. Though he couldn’t quite make himself let go.
The kid frowned. “You sure you wanna trade, Mister?”
“Yeah. Yep. Sure. Here you go,” he said, relinquishing his hat.
“Thanks, Mister!” The kid scampered off as fast as his feet could carry him. Probably afraid Adam would take the hat back. As well he should.
